Confessed
by amy conner
Summary: Sherlock is in a bad shape. He does not 'miss' John. He 'needs' John. Every he has been apart from Watson has been a nightmare. Something died each day. And he was spiraling again. Could he be saved at all this time ?
1. Chapter 1

Mrs. Hudson did not know what to do. She was not quite sure what was happening. She had seen him relapse before. But something in her told her that this time things were different. He was moodier than the usual but that was normal behavior when it came to Holmes. He was using again. Even that could be explained by his boredom and lack of interest in anything and everything mundane. But what confused her most was the utter change in his demeanor, now silent, and brooding. He had not thrown a tantrum in a long time or had eaten anything for that matter. He kept looking out of the windows quietly, not once mentioning how hateful everything was. He seemed to be waiting for something, someone. He seemed almost fey. She needed to talk to someone about Sherlock. Dr. Watson would have been a great help. But he had moved out several months ago. Such a pity, he seemed to have a positive influence on Sherlock.

Her mind was still engaged with these disturbing thoughts when she heard a knock on her door. She got up swiftly from her sofa, not wanting to keep her visitor waiting, especially when the visitor was usually referred by the police as a psychopath. A disheveled Sherlock barged into her room like a tornado. 'Mrs. Hudson I need a case, I need it now. I will go mad, mad, do you hear me?' he yelled as he paced across the room like a complete lunatic. 'No I also need some, you know, you threw them all away. How could you do this to me?' he rambled on 'I need some right now. Oh God'. He screamed at the wall and kicked the nearest thing, which happened to a handbag. 'Sherlock' Mrs. Hudson cried 'are you all right?' She asked stupidly.

He started to laugh insanely at this point. He so wanted to tell her what was wrong. He wanted to tell her he did not need weed or heroine or cocaine or even a fucking case. He needed one thing only. And no one , not even Mycroft was interested in giving him what he wanted. He was the fucking government himself. _If he could not find ONE man, then who could? It was probably because he did not particularly wanted to _Sherlock fumed. His brother was not particularly fond of him and more than that he probably was suspicious. Sherlock had never really been close to anyone. Bonding with John seemed very suspicious from the beginning. _He can accept that I am not sexual but can't … he_ did not finish the thought. He did not want to entertain that thought at all.

John John John

That was the only thing he could think of at the moment. He had spent several months lamenting, mourning, regretting. What on earth possessed him to tell John about Moriarty right after coming back from the dead? How on earth did he think John was going to accept the revelation calmly? Did he really believe that? 'We are not a couple' he had said. How he regretted those words. He had spent days praying, wanting, wishing to take those words away. He wanted to apologize to John. But John had been adamant, reluctant to listen to anything he had to say. _'You would outlive God trying to have the last word'_ John had said. So he had kept his mouth shut. He had died inside each day waiting for him to leave. He had watched silently as he saw his 'friend' pack his things, and eventually leave. He could do nothing to stop him. _NOTHING_ someone yelled in his head. 'I need some' he said quietly to Mrs. Hudson and walked away and disappeared into the London crowd. Far away, away from the prying eyes of the madding crowd, a certain military doctor woke up from a bad dream, sweating profusely. _Sherlock is in trouble._

The end ? 


	2. Chapter 2

He was falling. He could feel it. He could feel the air being sucked out of his lungs. And he could see, without actually seeing, the ground disappearing from underneath his feet. He could feel his mouth taking the shape of a big 'o' as he hit the ground. A shooting pain up and down his spine assured him that e was not in fact hallucinating. So wearily he opened his eyes and shut up again hurriedly. The loud fluorescent night lights of downtown London was too much for an addict. He was already high; severe migraines not far off. He could tell his was laying on his back, on the concrete, possibly right outside the Kingpin's lair. He did not care. He wanted to find something, anything that could take his mind off from '_you know who'_ then, then so be it. It really did not matter if that took his lucidity with itself. He just did not care.

He wanted to get up though, to lean against some sort of wall so he could inject some more poison into his veins. The abuse had not been enough. His body could bear more. And he did not need his head telling him what an utter idiot he was being. Shut up, he yelled silently as he eventually pushed himself off the dirty alley and supported himself against the lamp post. People were staring at him, some laughing and pointing at him. And even in his condition, he could tell some people were making some very offensive finger gestures, making his squirm. A large one, was eyeing him greedily. Sherlock did not know what that meant until a few months ago, when _Moriarty_….

But he had bigger problems now. The hulk was stalling toward him. 'Pretty' ain't you, a rough uneducated voice drawled? He tried to focus but the man continued with a slight tilt his voice 'how much?' He would have preferred to ask him what he meant how much for what. But unfortunately he now knew what he meant. 'I am not a Nancy' he growled making the guy snicker. 'Of course you ain't Kitten' he grinned as he grabbed Sherlock by his collar. Sherlock involuntarily began struggle underneath the weight of the man who had by now pinned him against the wall. 'Tell me your price boy or else I will take it anyway' he warned. Sherlock wanted to kick, scream, bite, do something. But he deduced it would useless against the man who was twice as large and he could expect no help from his body now that the drugs were taking their effects. 'Piss off' he managed to snarl, hoping to antagonize him enough to find an advantage. 'Pretty mouth, not meant for cussing dahlin' the guy grinned as he cupped his face and leaned in to kiss him. Sherlock was not sure what exactly happened next. The guy got thrown off him , into the sewer as a very familiar voice boomed ' He does not have a price'. The guy must have seen something dreadful in the new comer's hands. he promptly took to his heels and fled cussing swear words like a torrent. ' How did you find me ?' Sherlock asked as the gentle good looks of a slightly older blonde came into his line of vision?

'later' John replied as he helped Sherlock into the black cab which seemed to appear out of nowhere.

:D :D :D Not the end I believe- AC. 


End file.
